


to bring good fortune

by billtheradish



Series: really should've known better [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Consensual Sex, Failwolf, Failwolf Friday, Footnotes, Frottage, M/M, Magical Accidents, Mildly Dubious Consent, References to Drugs, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Reveal, Witches, dubious consent does not include sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billtheradish/pseuds/billtheradish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly six full years of higher education without ever partying to the point of blackout, apparently destroyed by fucking <i>tea</i>.</p><p>Or: </p><p>In which Derek doesn't remember getting into bed with this guy, and that's only the <i>beginning</i> of the surprises in store for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jadesymb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesymb/gifts).



> See the end notes for more explicit warnings. There is an issue relating to **power imbalance** , but it is very minor and I don't feel it should be tagged as such. If this is a concern for you, please read the chapter one end notes first, if only to put your mind at east.
> 
>  
> 
> This story is for Jadesymb, who was my runner up for the AO3 fundraising auction! Which means this story was supposed to be about 3,000 words. So. That happened. Hope it was worth the wait!
> 
>  **This story features footnotes**. Click on the footnote number to be taken to the footnote, then click on the number _in_ the footnote to be taken back to your place in the story.

"The circle's throwing a bash for the new moon," Meagan laughed, clashing shoulders with him as they traded off ownership of their 'office.' (1) "You should come!"

Derek really should have known better.

\-----  
Tuesday  
\-----

He remembered showing up with two tubs of the organic, locally produced salsa the Half Moon circle liked best. He remembered Meagan taking the salsa and pressing a sticky kiss against his cheek, and Natalie pressing a cup of iced tea into his hand, and Mercedes calling him over to the meat-eater's corner to help with the grill. (He liked the meat-eater's corner. It rarely had more than four people in it, and he usually _knew_ all of them. He couldn't say the same for the other seventeen-odd Mooners.)

He remembered downing half the tea while bickering about the best way to grill with Mercedes.

And then...downing half of his still-full cup of tea.

And--downing most of his still-full cup...

He really, really should have known better.

In his defense, it was _tea_.

\-----

He remembered--

A hitching breath, caught in a throat under his mouth.

Unfamiliar blankets under his back. Wanting to roll over and bury his face in the smell of them until the world stopped shaking and smearing all over itself.

_Crap. You are_ beyond _wasted._

Cedar and straw. A scent he wanted to taste. _Needed_ to taste.

Fabric ripping under his hands. Not enough, though. Not enough.

_Hey, you okay? You-- Whoa, okay, that's a no..._

Hot skin. Hands on his face.

Butterscotch candy. Too strong, too cloying, completely covering that scent/taste/feeling he needed.

_Shut up, alright? Just-- I think someone slipped him something. I'm just-- Oh,_ fuck you _. I'm not--_

He didn't remember much.

\-----  
Wednesday  
\-----

Derek woke up to a bare shoulder under his cheek and his arm being lifted by slow, steady breaths.

He didn't remember going home with someone. This was definitely not his apartment, though. It didn't quite smell like dorm room, but it was close. A lot of mixed signatures pressed into close quarters, and--

_Cedar and straw._

Derek groaned and turned his face further into the skin under him, inhaling deeply. That was-- Yes. Definitely the person he was lying on.

He wasn't entirely awake yet and his mouth was almost watering at the idea of tasting that skin.

But who was--?

There was the Half Moon party, and Meagan with her honey lip balm, Natalie and the tea, Mercedes and the grill...

Mercedes' hand on his arm, pulling him away from the fire. _Derek? You okay? Your eyes are going kinda wolfy._

Nothing after that was very--clear. Or complete.

Fuck. What the _hell_ had they put in the tea?

(Some odd sliver of his brain complained that they'd ruined his record. Nearly six full years of higher education without ever partying to the point of blackout, apparently destroyed by fucking _tea_.) (It was probably Sean's fault. He'd gotten the Mooners high the last time they'd left him in charge of anything homemade.)

Derek slowly lifted his head and squinted up at his pillow. He didn't remember _him_ either. (He didn't have horrible taste for drugged-up hookups, though. A little more button nosed than he'd normally go for and a lot more _undergrad_ than he'd have preferred, but.) 

Mr. Pillow frowned in his sleep and shifted his weight into Derek. A pale hand (and fuck, even if the lips hadn't been enough to make up for the upturn in the kid's nose, _the hands_ ) came up to paw at his own face before sliding down to where Derek's head had been resting (Paler than the hand. With moles. A little cluster of three of them, right above his nipple. Holy--) then further, trailing along where Derek's arm met his own chest as a sleepy frown twisted over that nearly-obscene mouth.

"Fuck's sake," a voice rasped somewhere behind him. Derek pushed himself up, but not fast enough to avoid knocking heads when Pillow lurched forward with a sour twist of alarm.

"Crap!" Pillow yelled, dropping back down into the bed, rubbing his forehead.

Derek raised a hand to his own head, but mostly to cover any mark that might have shown up temporarily. He twisted around to find an alarmingly skinny girl leaning in the doorjamb, a riot of dirty blonde curls pulled up in the kind of bun Laura slept with. It looked like she probably used it for the same reason, judging by the loose flannel pants decorated with cartoony clouds and smiling suns. Her toenails were purple, where they poked out from under the hems.

"I leave for five minutes," the girl continued, "to pee and heat up a burrito, and _that's_ when you wake up."

"Thank you, Pegs," Pillow moaned, covering everything but his mouth with both hands, now. "That's helpful."

Pegs shrugged and walked into the room like this was perfectly normal. (Who knew? Maybe it was, for them. (2)) She scooped up a laptop (presumably hers) from a papasan in the corner and went about untangling its power cord. "You're still wearing your pants," she pointed out, as though that was a sensible thing to say.

He _was_ though, Derek realized with a start. Shirt? No. Pants and underwear? Yes. And...no. No socks.

What the hell. He could have sworn...

Pillow uncovered his face and offered Derek a wave with a weak grin. "Hi. Sorry. Uh, I'm Stiles, and that's Pegs. You seemed to be tripping pretty bad, last night. Not sure if it was intentional or not, but..."

"You freaked out when Stiles suggested a hospital," Pegs cut in. "And you wouldn't let go of him. You were also really, really opposed to shirts," she added, smirking and gesturing vaguely at them. "For both of you. So."

Fuck. Derek flopped back down on the bed and pulled Stiles' covers over his head.

Maybe he'd luck out and die of embarrassment.

"Thanks, Pegs," Stiles said somewhere over his head and on the other side of the blankets. "Think we're okay without a chaperone, now."

"You owe me donuts," was Pegs' only response before Derek heard her feet heading away and the door closing.

Stiles shifted so he was sitting cross legged next to Derek's shoulders before he tugged the blanket down. There was a red mark on his forehead, dark enough that it might bruise. "Hey. You feeling okay?"

"Yeah. I have a hard head."

He wasn't expecting the laugh, or how it would it would force Stiles' head back, or how he _desperately_ wanted to close his teeth over that tendon. Shit.

Derek's life would have been so much better, and easier, if this had actually been a drunken hook up.

Stiles rubbed at his forehead again once he'd gotten his laughter under control. "Normally I do too. Guess I have a soft spot. But I meant more, uh, inside your head." His expression went serious and concerned abruptly. "You feeling woozy or disoriented at all? I mean, beyond the--" Stiles gestured around at the room, as though Derek might have forgotten he was in a stranger's room.

He _was_ in a stranger's room. And lying in said stranger's bed. On his back, with his stomach and throat open to attack.

Maybe he really was still feeling the effects of--whatever.

"No, I'm fine." Derek pushed himself up, casting around for his shirt. "I should--"

"Oh, yeah, absolutely." Stiles nodded easily, gesturing toward the desk. Derek's henley was folded neatly on the seat of the chair while something else was tossed over the back. "Your shirt's there. You, uh, you were barefoot when we met, so." Stiles shrugged helplessly.

"It's fine." He was saying that a lot. Derek pulled his shirt over his head and tried to ignore how much Stiles' scent had soaked into it already. 

The other shirt on the chair was ripped; right through the collar and down the shoulder seam.

Really, _really_ opposed to shirts.

Without pausing to give himself any more time to think, Derek grabbed the ruined shirt and bundled it up for easy carrying while he made for the door. "Thanks."

"Uh. Wait. That's-- Hey!"

Derek didn't know the building layout, but he could see what looked like a front door from the hallway. There was a thump behind him that suggested Stiles had failed at getting out of bed gracefully, but Derek was more focused on the night sky he found on the other side of the door.

He was running before Stiles made it into the hallway.

\-----

It was almost four a.m. when he got home, but it was at least Wednesday. It could have been worse. He could have lost thirty hours instead of six.

On one hand, he was up early and felt well rested despite how weird his night had been. On the other hand, he had to be at the library for a mandatory lecture on how libraries work, how to use key words, and what books are in four hours. And he really did have to be there; he was the one taking attendance.

If he was lucky, the papers for Small Group Behavior or Deviance will be waiting in his inbox so he'll have something other than Freecell to keep himself occupied.

\-----

Of course there was nothing in his inbox. Of course there was no e-mail from his professor.

He spent most of an hour playing Freecell and answering questions that made him question every single one of his life choices. (4)

This was why he refused to learn to learn names for any required class. If he didn't know who it was that asked him to explain the difference between a dictionary and an encyclopedia, he couldn't hold it against them later. (This didn't help the students who overcompensated with perfume or cologne, when they handed in hard copy assignments, but there was only so much he could do.)

\-----

" _Oh_ my God," Meagan lurched to the side and nearly knocked over their 'office' walls. Derek just smirked and spun the chair in a lazy circle, waiting for her heart beat to settle. It didn't take long before Meagan was huffing sharply to blow her bangs out of her face and readjusting her grip on the stack of papers she'd brought with her. "Damnit. You aren't even supposed to _be here_ today."

Derek shrugged and spun around again. There was a reference there he knew he was missing, it was one of Laura's favorites. He didn't really care though. "Something at the party messed with my head. Probably the tea."

Meagan rolled her eyes and pushed past him, bumping her hip against the chair to knock him into the desk. "Yeah, we noticed _something_ happened. I'll ping Gherd for the tea recipe. She's not really into herbal stuff though,so--"

"Oh good. I was worried it was Sean."

"Fuck no," Meagan barked a laugh. "Sean brings packaged and sealed items _only_ until Natalie gives him the okay. He brought the chips, I think."

It rankled to be on the same poison-related-trust-level as the witch who hadn't seen any problems with putting marijuana in the tea, but whatever. He'd probably just end up bringing steaks anyway, and the salsa was cheaper.

Derek vacated the seat when Meagan dropped her things off and started poking his shoulder. "Yeah, well. Whoever or whatever, you have a debt now." He pulled the shirt out of his bag and the scent of it hit him like a brick, condensed and thick and fucking hell, _all over his things_ now. Derek snorted softly in an attempt to clear his nose and tossed the shirt into Meagan's lap.

She wrinkled her nose at it. "I'm not doing your laundry."

"It's not mine," Derek growled, zipping his bag back up. His fingers weren't cooperating for some reason. "He thought I'd been roofied or something and took care of me. And I apparently tried ripping his shirt off."

Meagan lifted the shirt and snickered when the collar flopped open. "Uh. Tried?"

"Succeeded. Whatever." He rolled his eyes and slipped his bag into place, once the zipper finally cooperated. "Can you get it fixed?"

"Pfffsht, _yeah_. It'll take it to Mercedes. She's best at physical craft." Meagan tossed the shirt over her bag and grinned at him. "Check your e-mail later for the tea stuff, yeah? The shirt'll probably take a day or two."

Finally. Something was going his way.

\-----

He had the e-mail from Gherd by seven. The most dastardly thing on the list was just _mugwort_ , but it wasn't like he had any better leads. He hadn't _eaten_ anything except a few chips, and as prone as he was to blame Sean? He'd opened that bag himself.

He finally had an e-mail from his professor as well. Small Group Behaviors successfully petitioned for an extension until Monday (5), and the Deviance papers were finally in his box. As of 6:57. 

The doors to the offices and lounge were generally locked by 5:30.

So _that_ was helpful.

\-----

Derek closed his eyes and tried counting to ten. He heard it worked for other people. "Mother..."

"Sorry," Talia gasped around the tail end of a laugh. "But-- You just--"

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

Four. 

Five. 

Si--  
"Okay," his mother sighed, audibly putting actual effort into smoothing her voice out. "But you do realize this is hysterical, right?"

"I'm sure it is, from over there. Can I read you the ingredients now, or are you going to keep laughing about me being drugged?"

His mother cackled, because she made no secret of being evil. "Oh, I'm going to laugh more. But I'll save it until later. What was in this tea?"

\-----  
Thursday  
\-----

That night sucked. The whole lack of explanations thing hit him harder than he'd expected, apparently. His dreams were restless, frantic chases that ended with him startling awake whenever he managed to _catch_ the--whatever it was he was after.

It felt like his alarm went off as soon as he'd managed to slip past the dreams into honest _sleep_ , and he had never hated his inability to get a buzz off caffeine so much in his life. That he remembered, anyway.

And of course he had to haul his ass in to the lounge. He had _papers_ to grade.

Even half asleep and hating reality, he remembered to flick through the stack to pull out familiar names before getting started. For Deviance, DeSanto, Kimmel, Stilinski, and Wade got their own pile. 

Derek had learned early on to create an 'attempt to restore faith in humanity' pile for every class he TA'd for. It didn't really work, but it made him feel better to have regular doses of work that didn't actually _hurt_ to read.

\-----

The Deviance papers either weren't as bad as usual or he was too tired to be grading.

Then he woke up with his face smashed into the middle of Stilinski's paper, a vicious cramp in his neck, and his phone buzzing to let him know he had ten minutes to make it to Race & Ethnicity. Where he actually had to take notes. Which he would be tested on.

Definitely too tired to be grading, even if the nap had done him a world of good.

\-----

There was a special type of hell reserved for Derek. He wasn't sure what he'd done to earn it, or when he'd died, but it had definitely happened.

"--no real way we could have predicted it, you know."

"Yeah, Grandpa," Derek sighed, doodling on the notebook he'd made sure to have ready, in case his mother had figured something out. "I know."

"Still. The tomatoes seem to be recovering alright. I guess it's good I let your grandmother get a heartier variety this year, but eh."

Derek snorted and pressed the pencil eraser against his forehead. "And if you're saying that, I'm guessing she's out with Mom?"

"Of course," his grandfather chuckled, sly as ever. "I certainly wouldn't be admitting it if she were _here_."

"I know. And I love you, but I think I have guests incoming."

He wished he was lying. He could hear Mercedes and Meagan leaving the staircase, down the hall.

"Oh, all right.Take care of yourself, Derek. We'll see you in the summer."

"Yeah, thanks Grandpa. And thanks for the updates." More the ones about his cousins than the tomatoes, but Grandpa didn't need to know that.

Derek thumbed the phone off and tossed it on the counter before heading to the door.

Mercedes tossed a soft, plastic wrapped bundle at his chest and let herself in. Meagan at least waved and smiled as she walked past. "Hey Derek."

"Hi, Meagan," Derek drawled, closing the door behind them. "And rude guest."

"I brought tribute!" Mercedes protested, but her head was more than halfway inside his fridge, which lost her some sincerity points. "And why do you have no food?"

"I'm a grad student," he pointed out, tossing the shirt into his room before closing that door. Mercedes was worse about boundaries than his sister.

"We're ordering pizza anyway, so it doesn't matter." Meagan rolled her eyes and flopped down on Derek's couch before starting to pull familiar looking stacks of paper out of her bag.

Mercedes turned her attention to the phone, while Derek made a face at Meagan. "Seriously? You brought grading?"

Meagan shrugged, wiggling to make herself more comfortable in the cushions. "You two are going to fight over a movie. I have to keep myself entertained _somehow_."

Mercedes was already ordering his normal meat, mushroom, and artichoke monstrosity as well as something vegetarian for Meagan. He supposed he could forgive them.

For now.

\-----  
Friday  
\-----

Derek woke up twice that night, already in the process of getting up to prowl the house. No threats, no prey, no _reason_. His skin crawled, his gums itched, his brain was throbbing in time with his pulse. With the need to find-chase-catch-have.

He slept like a log for the rest of the night but woke up (late), with Stiles' shirt unwrapped and bunched up next to his head.

He missed the first ten minutes of Grad Stat 3, but it didn't sound like he'd missed much. The professor was talking about their project for the quarter, again, and nothing she was saying sounded like a change from what was described in the syllabus. Meagan could fill him in later if he was wrong.

\-----

It was disconcertedly easy to find his way back to Stiles' house. 

Derek remembered the street he'd run along and a vague impression of how far he'd run before ducking between two buildings, but he'd never actually looked _back_. He'd never really seen the exterior of the building. While sober, anyway.

That didn't apparently matter. He found himself standing on the front step with the stolen shirt in hand and the electric buzz of the doorbell fading in his ears before he'd even considered how he was going to find the right building. 

He didn't honestly remember anything past setting foot on the street. And this time, he couldn't blame anybody's tea.

Maybe he could blame the fact that he'd _failed to recognize his mate_ , Derek realized as the door swung open. Stiles' scent hit him like a wet towel; heavy, clingy, and impossible to miss. Cedar and straw: sweet, earthy, and a touch sour in one hit. He felt like he'd been hooked behind the ribs, heart yanked forward toward freedom.

How. _How_ had he not felt that, before?

How had he not realized how _weak_ the scent in the shirt, was?

At least Stiles was gaping just as much as he was. That made him feel a little better.

But of course Stiles had to recover first, grouper-mouth (6) shifting to a nervous grin, then to something a bit more confused and a lot less happy. "Uh. I mean. What?"

"Shirt," Derek offers, thrusting his hands out. Because apparently, his brain felt the appropriate response to the situation was to completely shut down. "I mean. Your shirt. I ripped it. It's fixed now."

Stiles grabbed the bundled cloth before Derek could push it against his chest, mouth twisting into an amused smirk. "Thanks? I-- uh."

The smirk softened, Stiles' mouth dropping open again, just a bit. And--he was staring. And there was a tugging sensation against his hands, that suggested he hadn't let go of the t-shirt yet.

Derek could feel heat creeping over his ears and along the back of his neck as he pulled his focus back to Stiles' eyes and let go of the shirt. 

Stiles rocked back on his heels, but he was grinning. "Okay. So. That happened."

"Would you like to get dinner sometime?" Derek heard himself ask. Stiles went back to gawking, so Derek hurried to catch up with what his mouth was saying without running it by his brain first. "I mean. You don't have to. Or it can be just a, uh, thank you or something. For the...yeah. But--"

Stiles shook his head, holding a hand up. "Stop. Halt. Pause. Hold up."

Thankfully, Derek's mouth listened to Stiles even when it wasn't, apparently, listening to _him_.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" Stiles asked incredulously after taking a moment to run a hand through his hair. "You kind of gave that impression, if not."

Derek just nodded, positive he'd mess up if he started talking again.

Stiles nodded back, eyes wide. "Okay. Um. Yes? Dinner sounds-- Uh, yeah. Good." A grimace spasmed across his face, there and mostly gone in an instant. "Or, well, on two conditions, anyway. One," Stiles clarified, holding up a finger and giving Derek a stern look. "I need to know if that night was normal for you, or..."

Relieved, Derek shook his head. "I have no idea what happened," he answered truthfully. "I wasn't even drinking, let alone hitting anything harder."

Not that it normally would have mattered if he had been. None of his experiments or Laura's with normal chemical assistance had really had any effect. (7)

"Well. I hate to say 'good' when that's kind of confirming you were probably roofied or something, but." Stiles grimaced again, shrugging, but the expression under the surface was beaming.

Derek found himself grinning back. "What's the other condition?"

"Your name," Stiles said, dropping all pretence of anything but smiling. "I'd feel kind of silly agreeing to go out with someone whose name I didn't even know yet."

Oh. _Right_. Derek could feel himself blushing again, but pushed a hand out toward Stiles and did his best to power through it. "Derek. It's-- I'm Derek."

"Nice to meet you, Derek," Stiles laughed, his heart rate picking up as he took Derek's hand.

\-----

"You asked him out, right?' Laura's voice cut over the line. He could hardly hear his mother gasping for air in the background, anymore. Really. "You didn't freeze up? Hold the phone closer to your chest so I can hear."

Derek sighed. " _No_ , Laura. I did ask him out, though. And he said yes."

She huffed frustration right into the receiver. He winced and yanked the phone away from his ear. "Why aren't you out with him right _now_ , dummy?" she demanded tinnily. "You don't have time to waste, bro. You aren't getting any younger."

"You're older than me and still not married," Derek pointed out, bringing the phone back to his ear. "And we're ramping up toward toward finals, remember? He wanted to get his homework done first, so we're meeting up for dinner tomorrow."

He could feel himself grinning like a loon. Stiles hadn't wanted to wait either (it seemed he was delusional, and worried that Derek was going to change his mind), but Derek liked the feeling that he was going to be Stiles' reward for getting his work done on time.

"Okay, first of all, I'm only an hour and a half older, you little twerp. And secondly, you know Damir has commitment issues, so shut up."

The cackling in the background had gone quiet. "Is Mom--"

"Just catching her breath," Laura cut him off, wry amusement sharp in her mouth. "I can tell you something about your little night on the crazy train, though."

"What."

"None of the ingredients should have had any effect. Even in combination," she chirped. "It must've been something else."

Derek pounded his head against the wall a few times. His neighbor pounded back, but he didn't really care. They had loud sex, they could cope.

\-----

Stiles, Derek decided, was going to be _his_ reward for putting up with morons all day.

His student account had an absurd number of notifications and announcements about events and internships that he really didn't care about, and three e-mails from the Small Group Behavior class, only one of which would take more than five minutes of coherent thought and the textbook to find the answer for. (8)

His personal account had over _fifty_ messages from the Mooners, as a simple question of what sort of magic might have been connected with their New Moon party had devolved into an argument about--

Derek had no idea what the argument was about. He didn't _want_ to know what the argument was about. The use of chicken feet for some sort of ritual was involved, and that was more than he needed to know.

\-----  
Saturday  
\-----

"Good thing I got your name," Stiles joked, dropping into the seat across from Derek. "I'd have just freaked if I hadn't had a name to offer the waitress and get shot down over."

Derek tilted his menu up to hide his smile. (9) "Your name's not as common as mine."

"It still felt awful when she said she didn't have anything for the name Derek." There was a rattle and a muffled tap, and Derek peered over the top of his menu to see that Stiles had his own menu braced sideways on the table, fingertips steadying the corners and glaring down at it like it had offended his mother. "Sorry I'm late, though. Group project."

There was no stutter to his heart, no reason to disbelieve him, so Derek shrugged. "It happens. I'd have waited longer if I'd had to."

It was nice to know he wasn't going to be the only one blushing, in this relationship. Stiles' jaw flushed, with a few mottled splotches of pink over his cheeks. "For a first date?"

_For my mate,_ Derek wanted to say. Instead he just hummed and smiled, letting Stiles scowl back before hiding in his own menu.

\-----

"So, I had a question."

Derek glanced over, but Stiles appeared to be addressing his ice cream cone. (10) "Oh?"

"Ahunh," Stiles confirmed, licking around the base of his cone in a way that was obnoxiously suggestive. (Also as obviously unintentional as it was unfair.) Finished vanquishing potential drips, Stiles ran his tongue over his lips and shot Derek a narrow eyed look. "I've had this shirt for years, you know. It still has a ripped out section of the hem, and a hole in the armpit."

Derek shrugged, baffled. "So?"

Rolling his eyes, Stiles tugged at the shoulder with his free hand. "So it's _definitely_ the same shirt, but that shouldn't be possible. It doesn't feel any different. It's not any stronger or weaker or stiffer than it was a couple weeks ago." Oh, that. "And...you mended it?"

"No, a witch did," he explained, then abruptly wanted to punch himself in the face as Stiles' eyes went almost as wide as his gaping mouth. "I mean--"

"I'm pretty sure you mean a witch mended my shirt," Stiles cut in, shaking his head. "Is that-- I mean."

Oh, this was going to be fun.

\-----

"You told your mate about the supernatural world," his mother said, enunciating each word carefully, "on your first date."

"Mother."

She ignored him. "To explain a mended shirt."

"Yeah, Mom. But--"

"So you told him about witches," she continued, her voice starting to shake with mirth, "and promised to introduce him to that circle you know."

He didn't bother trying to interrupt this time, just rolled his eyes and waited for her to be done.

"And you _still_ didn't take the time to explain werewolves?"

"That's right," he confirmed, and hung up once his mother's laughter was bad enough to make her gasp for air.

At least they'd already discussed the blessings each of the Mooners had put into preparing for their party, so the hour he spent combing through their e-mails wasn't in vain.

\-----  
Later...  
\-----

Their second date, Stiles was recovering from a particularly stupid class discussion. They spent it on Derek's couch with a pot of pasta, a carton of ice cream, and a Bond marathon playing in the background. It involved a lot of ranting and wide gestures and soft hungry noises once Derek figured out that kissing made Stiles calm down and lose track of what he'd been talking about.

Derek had leftovers for two days and an unfortunate stain on his carpet from the melted ice cream, but he couldn't really regret what he'd been doing with his mouth instead.

\-----

He'd agreed to introduce Stiles to the Half Moon circle. He knew that.

He really, _really_ should have known better.

\-----

Derek woke up sprawled across Stiles' bed, face smushed against Stiles' shoulder, and wearing...a lot less than two dates and a casual witches' get together probably accounted for. The pants were _definitely_ gone this time, but the underwear wasn't.

Also, he didn't remember _leaving_ the barbeque the Mooners had thrown together.

Fuck. _Again?_

Strong, clever fingers slipped through his hair and rubbed firmly over his scalp at the back of his head. "You awake?"

Stiles sounded too much like his mother, just before she stopped being able to hold the laughter in, for Derek's peace of mind. Instead of responding, he grunted and tried to bury his head even further in Stiles' skin, shifting to the side until he could bury his nose in the line between chest and arm.

Mmmm, _cedar-straw_.

"You know," Stiles continued on, unphased. "I was really confused when you woke up, that first day. I could have _sworn_ your eyes were this really intense blue when we first met."

Derek went still, and listened as Stiles' heartrate slowly picked up.

"I figured it was just the lighting or my imagination or something. Just as well. I mean, _werewolf_ wouldn't have been an option that sprang to mind, y'know?"

"Shit," Derek muttered, and contemplated the practicality of dragging the covers up over his head. It felt like that was going to become a habit.

Stiles laughed, though, and dug his fingers in harder against Derek's scalp to pull a groan up from his chest. "Natalie explained some of it. And your drugged out babbling was, uh-- Informative?"

Derek translated that as 'humiliating'. "You're weirdly calm about this."

"I got over most of my freaking last night," Stiles said, and the smug almost-laughter in his voice set Derek's nerves on edge. "It's hard to be too scared of my fangy, claw-y boyfriend when he's doing a reverse teddy bear impersonation and mumbling about babies and how sexy my moles are."

"Your _moles_?" he protested, before his brain caught up with what else Stiles had said. " _Babies?_ " Derek sat up, staring down at Stiles in near-horror as his mate started laughing. " _Stiles!_ "

"Oh my god, your face," Stiles wheezed, reaching for Derek's shoulders to try and pull him down again. He almost managed to pull himself up instead, for the moment before Derek gave in and curled his face against Stiles' throat instead. "Sorry. Sorry. I mean. It's all _true_ , but-- And why do you sound so surprised about lusting after my moles?" he protested. "I didn't make that up, that was all on you."

Derek closed his eyes and took a moment to imagine introducing his mate to his family, to remind himself that life could and would be _so much worse_. "They just aren't at the top of the list," he grumbled.

Stiles shifted under him, then there was a hand against his cheek. Knuckles dragging up from his jaw, catching on his stubble. The pad of Stiles' thumb brushed over his lips and his mouth dropped open almost before he realized what he was responding to.

"I know," Stiles whispered, his breath catching when Derek let his tongue sneak out to taste. "You, uh, had a lot to say about my hands."

Derek let a growl build, low and soft in his chest, and took his thumb in. Stiles tasted like he smelled: earthy and sweet with a hint of sour that lingered after. It left Derek wanting to take him deeper. Chase the sweet again.

Under his ear, Stiles' pulse ticked up another notch. "Shit. You sure you're--"

He let Stiles' thumb slip away, turning his head and catching the fleshy swell of Stiles' palm lightly in his teeth before nuzzling into his hand, down his wrist. "Sober? Yeah."

"Halla-fricken-lujah," Stiles breathed, hooking his free hand behind Derek's neck and tugging him up. "Come on, come _on_."

Then Stiles' mouth was opening under his, gasping and hungry. Stiles had one hand in his hair and another hooked around his arm, holding him in place and fingers digging in just enough to hurt _so_ nicely. There was no shirt in his way when he pushed himself up and ran a hand from the curve of Stiles' neck to the band of his briefs. 

Stiles bucked up, a broken sound ripped from his throat, when Derek thumbed the line of his hip. Sliding down past that elastic barrier, down to--

" _Fuuuuuck_ ," Stiles groaned, pulling away from the kiss and letting his head drop back when Derek moved his mouth to his throat instead. "Off, off, _off_."

Derek stopped dead for the half second it took for Stiles to get a hand down, snagging his underwear and shoving it under the swell of his ass.

_Clothes_ off, not him. 

Okay.

Derek nipped at the tendon that had been _taunting_ him since they'd met and pushed himself up onto his knees. Stiles swore and grabbed for him, but stopped halfway to sitting, gaping as Derek skinned out of his underwear  (11) and tossed it out of his way.

"We doing this?" he asked, voice rough and scraping the bottom of his range as he tugged at the edge of Stiles' briefs.

Stiles' throat clicked as he swallowed, but he was--

Not bothering to answer. Surging up into Derek's space and attacking his mouth, just shy of too much, too hard, with a hand hooked around his neck like Stiles thought he might try to get away.

As if. 

He might fall over though. That--that was a thing that happened.

But Stiles was stretched out across his chest, pressing laughter into his temple and hands skimming down his sides before going to the bed so Stiles could push himself up. Grin down at him impishly. Say "hunh. I like it," before claiming his mouth again.

It was fast and overwhelming and too much and _not_ enough, nowhere _near_ enough, because it was _Stiles_. But there was a hand on his hip, thumb brushing light and teasing through the hair there, and Stiles wriggled eager and agreeable when he got his own hands down again, pushed elastic and cotton out of the way, and--

Stiles groaned, mouth falling open as they slipped into place, half accidental. They were both hard enough, _leaking_ enough, that it was slick and wet and almost perfect in all the right places. The scent was amazing, with the fabric out of the way. Cedar-straw but dark with musk and blood and _so_ much stronger. 

If he hadn't already been panting for air, it might have taken his breath away. 

It was instinct to thrust up, to push into him, to slot their legs together and _goddamn fucking hell_ his underwear was still stuck around his knees.

Stiles almost choked on a laugh as Derek pushed him over. Did yelp as he met the edge of the bed, grabbed hard at the blankets and slipped over backward in almost slow motion.

His feet twitched in the air, and Derek took advantage of the momentary stillness to pull his underwear the rest of the way off.

From the floor, Stiles snorted. "Okay. I have no complaints? But _losing my virginity_ wasn't this awkward, just so you know."

"You can tell me about it _some other time_ ," Derek sighed, tossing Stiles' underwear--somewhere--and reaching down to offer him a hand back up onto the bed. "I don't want to hear about your past conquests before we've even--"

"Hey, I was totally the conquest that time, I'll have you know," Stiles interrupted, grinning mischievous and sly. Though he did, at least, take Derek's hand and let himself be pulled back up to the bed. "She'd had a crush on me for--"

Growling, Derek cut that line of discussion off with another kiss.

It was a complicated push and pull for a moment. Tongues warring, hands and mouths hungry and greedy, both of them pressing forward because neither of them could fall back. Stiles' bed was simply _not wide enough_.

Eventually, Derek got his hands secure on Stiles' hips and pulled him in tight enough that he could twist them both. Stiles latched onto his shoulders like a lifeline as he fell forward, gasping a curse and groaning approval as they settled, Stiles' knees braced on either side of Derek's thighs.

"You said you liked it," Derek breathed, caught up with watching the way Stiles' pupils pulsed even wider. How the curl of his mouth went soft and pleased. 

They could try their other options later. This-- This was good.

Stiles shifted, nudged his legs apart and slotted them together like puzzle pieces. Nothing in the way or obstructing movement, this time. Just a wet slide of precome and skin, the friction of coarse hair, the gasping hitch and stutter of too-much-not-enough-more-more- _more_.

They kissed, until that became too complex. Too much to keep track of. Neither of them moved away, though, letting their lips catch, mouths open and panting into the shared space between them.

It was an almost innocent touch that did it; Stiles' hand just rubbing up and down, shoulder to neck, until his thumb brushed down along the length of his throat and it was like _lightning_. White light, overpowering, intense enough he lost track of--everything.

When he came back, when he could piece together the world again, Stiles was keening against his cheek, body shaking and erratic. It was easy to slide a hand down, wipe it through his come and wrap it around Stiles. Easy to catch the sounds pouring out of one mouth with another. 

It had to be easy. Derek was too shattered and pliant for anything else.

There was no noise when Stiles came, just stuttering breath and a flood of heat and cedar-straw- _mine_ to seal them together.

He didn't try pushing Stiles off. Didn't _want_ him off. It felt good, _right_ , to have Stiles draped over him like this. If it wasn't for food and the definite need for an eventual shower, Derek would have been perfectly content to stay like that for days.

He'd want to stay that way forever, but he was already thinking about different positions. Different places.

Stiles sighed and leisurely kissed his throat, coming back to himself piece by piece.

"So, I do have another question," Stiles muttered against his skin, eventually. "About last night."

"Babies?" he guessed. He thought he remembered Stiles saying something about babies, and wow he wishes he didn't. Or at least remembered what he might have _said_.

Stiles snorted and pushed himself up just enough to level a mocking glare at him. "No. You were mostly just sad we couldn't have our own."

Groaning, Derek reached for the blankets, but Stiles wrested them away before he could pull them over his head. "Fine," he sighed. "So what's your question?"

\-----

"So things are good with you two?"

Derek sighed and wished that his mother could just answer his questions and not pry into his personal life. For one day, at least. That one, specifically. "Ah, Actually? He's not talking to me right now."

Something thunked and clattered on the other end of the line. "What? Why? What did you do?"

"Your faith in me is something I will cherish always," he drawled, earning himself a muffled growl over the line.

"He took in witches and werewolves and was right as rain, apparently. So _what. Did. You. Do._ "

Derek closed his eyes and resisted the urge to hide under his blankets. "He asked what being mates meant."

His mother was quiet for a long moment, before "This isn't another Damir, is it?"

"As if," Derek snorted. "Depending on how long it takes for it to be legal again, we might get married before Laura and Damir. No. He's refusing to freak out about destiny, free will, and whether or not any of us actually exist while he's getting ready for finals."

" _Somebody_ took too many philosophy electives."

"Mhmm. He's not talking to me until after the first day of finals, and even then I'm under strict orders to cuddle, keep him from getting drunk, and not talk about 'freaky stuff'. He'll finish pretty early in the week, and he's already told his dad that he'll be staying a few extra days so we can sort out what we're doing over the summer."

"You mean aside from bringing him to meet the family," his mother said, sickly sweet. "Right?"

"I mean _when_ , and how, and how long," Derek clarified, rolling his eyes. "For you guys _and_ his dad. _And_ you are going to transfer more funds to my account, because he normally works over the summer and that's just not going to happen."

That earned a pleased hum over the line. "I expect at _least_ a few weeks, then. Your grandparents will probably be willing to chip in too."

"You aren't _buying_ our--" Derek sighed and opted to give up on a lost cause before he got started. "I promise, we'll talk more about it by the end of next week, alright? But in the meantime, I'd like to stop being accidentally drugged by my friends. Any headway on that?"

"Oh yeah," his mother laughed, and Derek's stomach sank. "One of the blessings a few of them are doing involves burning twigs offered by trees they work with. Apparently, inhaling mountain ash smoke can do weird things to our heads. Who knew?"

Mercedes. Mercedes worked with rowan wood. He knew that because she'd accidentally trailed sawdust down the hall outside his apartment last quarter. 

His mother laughed again when he groaned. "Look on the bright side! You can tell your friends the blessing worked just fine. Apparently, it's meant to bring good fortune."

\-----

The End (or is it?)

(1) A cubicle crammed into the Sociology lounge hardly counted, but at least they had half a window.

(2) It was, he'd learn eventually. Pegs and Stiles had an oddly close relationship based largely on horrible names (3) and similar difficulties in understanding normal boundaries.

(3) Pegasus Dombrowsky and no, Derek was _not_ supposed to know that. Ever. And no, she didn't want to talk about it. _Ever_.

(4) Except the only firm decision he'd made about his future, which was simply _not teaching_.

(5) Derek loved the professor he worked for, but the guy had really strange ideas of how to make due dates accessible on a syllabus, and he was a total pushover. When that worked in Derek's favor, it was fine. This wasn't fine. This was annoying.

(6) Derek had no idea how Stiles pulled that off looking like an alluring moron, instead of just a moron. But he did.

(7) Though Laura had found a brand of pen ink that could reliably make them feel kind of spinny and nauseated.

(8) He was _so glad_ he was less involved with Deviance, and had no contact with the students directly. _So glad_.

(9) Lost cause. He'd been smiling ever since Stiles stepped into view, wearing the shirt Derek had returned.

(10) "Dessert?"  
"Obviously. But the park's ice cream is better."  
"Oh?"  
"Well, I've never had ice cream here. But the park's ice cream comes with a park, so..."

(11) And one random sock. He didn't even want to know.


	2. Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are, of course, some loose ends to be tied up.

"Can I meet my soulmate at the end of every year?" Stiles sighed from his sprawl across Derek's bed. "I need a break to prepare for my break."

Derek growled and threw a shirt over Stiles' head. "Pretty sure we can do that anyway."

Stiles just pulled the shirt down and left it draped over his chest like a blanket. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They exchanged a grin, and Derek went back to packing. He wasn't taking everything, it was cheaper and less stressful to keep up his rent over the summer than move somewhere new, but there was still a lot to do.

"So...do you think your family would mind if I brought you home first?" Stiles asked, leg jittering against the blankets. "Dad's already kind of quietly freaking out about the 'older man' thing and how fast we're moving, and he's a sheriff so he actually has some pretty good reasons for worrying, and--"

"It's fine," Derek cut in. "As long as we're spending at least three weeks with my family, it'll be fine." Stiles grinned up at him and Derek had to swallow heavily and look away. Too much to do. Not enough time for funny business. "Where does he live, anyway?"

Hopefully they weren't from opposite sides of the state. Maybe they lived close enough that they could go back and forth a couple of times. Maybe--

"Beacon Hills. In Beacon County, which you're _slightly_ more likely to recognize. You're a native here, right? It's--"

_Maybe they lived in the same town_.

"...Derek?" Stiles sat up, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"My family's in Beacon Hills. I _grew up_ there. I--" Something clicked into place in his brain. "The sheriff. Sheriff Stilinski. _Your dad's Sheriff Stilinski._ "

The look Stiles gave him implied Derek had bypassed acting weird and gone straight for unpredictable and irrational.

Derek rubbed a hand over his face. "So your name's--"

"Stilinski. Yup." Stiles nodded. "That's how surnames work. Usually. In our society."

_Good thing I didn't have any contact with the Deviance students,_ Derek thought somewhat hysterically. He was possibly going to have to e-mail that professor.

"We need to talk about our course loads..."

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warnings**  
>  Dub-con: Derek is affected (twice) by magic and can't remember what happened afterward, very well. No sex happens, though some kissing and potentially sexual touch is implied, as well as clothing removal. 
> 
> Power Imbalance: It is very heavily implied that Derek is the TA of one of Stiles' classes. While this is true, and something the reader would know, neither Derek or Stiles are aware of the situation until after it is no longer a possible issue.
> 
>  
> 
> Working on this story was a lot of fun, but there was a lot of thought that I put into it that never made it into the story. So here's a tl;dr breakdown of some information that might or might not interest you.
> 
> Derek is a Sociology grad student, with particular focuses in prejudice and group behavior. Which, looked at a particular way, is Derek studying hunter/werewolf relations and inter-pack dynamics.
> 
> Stiles is a Criminology major with a minor that's subject to change. He's actually a junior, but this was his first year at the university because he transferred in from a community college. Stiles started off thinking he just wanted to be in law enforcement, but his course load is already showing strong interest in forensics and the psychological end of criminology.
> 
> Marijuana tea is actually a thing. It's more involved than just boiling water and steeping the leaves in it, however, so Sean's mistake was actually somewhat understandable.


End file.
